Regroup
by Carmilla DeWinter
Summary: They were babysitting a potentially suicidal Ex-Sith. Obi-Wan sighed. Things would be a lot easier if they had just freed Maul on Darvin Four. Episode I AU. Sequel to josafeena's Captivity
1. Chapter 1

Regroup (1/5)

by Carmilla DeWinter

Disclaimer: Every familiar person in this story belongs to George Lucas. The Middle Countries game is property of Tad Williams. I'm not making any money with this, so please don't sue. I have barely enough money to support my book habit as it is.

A/N:

This is the sequel to josafeena's 'Captivity'. I owe her greatly for letting me play in her sandbox, and for being an absolutely awesome, insightful and inspiring beta-reader. Thanks, girl. Needless to say, any mistakes are my own.

You probably won't be able to follow 'Regroup' if you don't read 'Captivity' first. You may find it via the search option or my bio.

For anyone willing to try without, or who's read Jo's story and has half forgotten it again, there's a summary in the next paragraph. Feel free to ignore it, as well as the rest of this author's note.

This is an Episode I AU and contains Darth Maul alias Khameir Sarin, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn. It assumes Anakin didn't win the pod-race. As a result, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and Maul were captured by a slaver named Kala Marron. Maul helped the Jedi escape, but landed at the mercy of a mad scientist. In the ending of Captivity, Qui and Obi have just rescued a rather battered Maul. The poor guy is quite depressed, because he assumes he will be a pawn in the never ending Jedi/Sith conflict, and also because he doesn't have anywhere to go anymore. He's no Sith, but he will never be a Jedi either. Qui-Gon gets him out of the funk by hypothesizing about a gray area.

Please note that the language presented here as 'Zabrakian' is not Arabian. I made it up, though I did steal words, but not meanings, from a variety of languages. The same goes for the society structure: It's not meant to depict anything that actually exists.

Feedback of any kind is always welcome.

ff. net is eating three-line breaks, as well as asterisks. So: Rulers indicate a change of POV and/or change of scene.

* * *

_For Sabine and Thomas – the folks who infected me with the Star Wars virus_

* * *

Roughly an hour after his arrival at the Jedi Temple, Khameir Sarin was munching on dried Qayesh meat in a room that sounded small and cluttered from the reverbs, somewhere in the Healers' wing. The Healer who was to be in charge of him had provided the food after he'd polished off what the kitchen had sent, to keep his hands busy, or so he assumed. Across the table he could hear Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon eat something far more soppy – stew of some kind. It was amazing how loud everything became when you couldn't see; Khameir remembered a time long ago when he had found the sound of others chewing nauseating, but right now he just couldn't find it in him to worry much about it.

A curious weakness had crept into his body, his knees felt like they would give if he tried to stand, but he knew they wouldn't. The same went for his hands – they were working perfectly, although he had no idea why, because they didn't feel like they should.

While his body had made it into reality, his mind was somehow lagging behind, oddly detached, not feeling, just watching.

He picked up another piece of jerky and started to nibble. It would be easiest if he could crawl into a corner and wait for this dizzy spell to pass. But the Healer had insisted that he eat first, and then they would have a look at him, whoever 'they' were.

Some of the Councilors, probably, since he'd already gotten a welcoming committee worthy of the Supreme Chancellor. All so they could see an actual Sith, or Ex-Sith, in his case.

Mace Windu had done most of the talking, and sounded rather polite, but he also had remarked that the removal of that Force inhibitor depended largely on what Khameir said in the 'interview' the Council wished to hold as soon as he was up to it; which was expected, but not welcome.

Maybe they had hoped he would spill all his secrets as soon as he was off the ship, but he hadn't done so, therefore they had reluctantly handed him over to the Healer, who did enough talking for both of them.

_…"I am Yassina Ba'Khadije, of the Qeyalqim," she said. An Iridonian nomad by origin, one of his people, almost. This was either the best thing to happen to him all day, or the worst._

_"Yourin al qoum, sha'theyija – peace with you, healer", he said, to tip the odds._

_"Yourin al qoum, bené", she said, amusement evident. So she wasn't a Council member, but he'd won her over, if her dubbing him 'son' was any indication._

They had made their way to the Healers' wing – "You don't want to go to the mess hall, dinner's on in ten minutes." - while he had gotten a running commentary of their surroundings from her; where they were, what could be seen through the windows if there were any, who was passing them, and whatever else she deemed remotely interesting.

On the one hand, he appreciated that she actually considered his need to get some kind of information beyond echoes of footfalls in the hall, on the other hand, she made his blindness obvious to the Jedi around them. However, given the pain that still emanated from his eyes sometimes, their appearance probably made it clear enough.

* * *

"I have never seen you around before, Healer Ba'Khadije," Qui-Gon said. Now that the woman had stopped her endless chattering, it was a little too quiet, and besides, she had piqued his curiosity. 

Her being a Zabrak was obvious; she had the trademark horns, although they were in a different pattern than Maul's… Khameir's. Her skin was nearly black and, in a disturbing contrast, her eyes were light blue.

"I have a bad case of wanderlust, Master Jinn. And please call me Healer Yassina. Ba'Khadije simply means that I'm Khadija's daughter. It's not really what you would call a surname."

"But he has a surname," Obi-Wan noted, and indicated Maul… Khameir.

The younger Zabrak flinched at that comment and looked down, while the Healer grimaced. It made the yellow snake she had tattooed on her left temple do some wriggling movements.

"Ay," she sighed. "Welcome to the wonderful issue of Zabrakian culture." She paused and looked at Qui-Gon thoughtfully. "Have you ever been to Iridonia?"

"We helped picking up some initiates once." He tried to focus on the conversation, it was rather difficult, because she was radiating discomfort. Khameir, however, was… empty. A void. There was nothing, not even the mildest irritation, as if his response to the topic had been automatic. Qui-Gon made a mental note to ask the Healer later; something like that couldn't be good.

She and Obi-Wan continued the conversation without him.

"Was there anything remarkable about these children?"

"They didn't have horns," Obi-Wan said.

"Hmm. Anything else?"

Qui-Gon shrugged. They had been like most other toddlers he had met. His Padawan was clearly at a loss, too.

"There's several different races of Zabraks," the Healer finally said. "On the northern continent, you get people like Councilor Koth. They have twelve horns, though most of those are hidden by their hair. On the southern continent, there's the people who live at the coast, with ten horns and a tan skin color, and the nomads, who look like me. Sha'Sarin here is one of the Coast People."

"Mmh. Now that you mention it…"

… _Qui-Gon squinted at the small script of the screen, trying to decipher it in the dim light of the town hall. There was something distinctly odd about the list of origins he had been given by the local authorities._

_"Aren't there any children from the southern continent?" he asked the clerk who had handed over the datacube. He had been briefed about Iridonia, and the southerners had a different language – all their cities started either with 'Choum' or 'Qal', and none of those could be found here._

_The young woman snorted, the question obviously seemed stupid to her. "There seldom are, Master Jinn."_

_"Why?"_

_"Oh, the Mashraks, the nomads, sorry, simply refuse testing, as well as any form of formal identification. Our best estimate is that there's thirteen million of them. And the people who live on the coasts are rather sloppy with it. They don't like the idea of giving up their kids to strangers… they're a little traditional."…_

"You never will use the term 'mashrak' again," the Healer said in a stern tone when he had finished relating the tale. "It's extremely offensive."

"I apologize." He could actually feel a flush creeping up his cheeks.

She waved her hand as if swatting away a fly.

* * *

"Really, Masters, I'd appreciate it if you could let me do my work in peace." 

"We would like to know how he is."

"As is your right, Master Billaba. But I don't make you strip for the entire Council, hn? So, out."

Several persons started to shuffle and assembled outside the small room. Some muffled conversations could be heard; they were clearly not pleased with this insubordinate healer. Khameir was supposed to feel amused about this, so he grinned a little.

"You realize that neither Master Jinn nor Padawan Kenobi have left," Yassina said.

He recounted the sounds he had heard. "Yes."

"And?"

And what?

"They don't have to be in here. You aren't a prisoner, and thus entitled to some privacy." The comment provoked some movement near the door.

She was right, he didn't have to receive whatever devastating news she had in front of any audience.

Yassina moved in a rustle of robes. "Shoo, you two. There'll be enough opportunity for you to be concerned and caring later."

They left without protest, although Qui-Gon did heave a small sigh.

* * *

"Will our guest be like this, too, once he regains his footing?" Depa Billaba asked, sounding vaguely amused, which Qui-Gon took as a good sign. 

"With less humor, probably," he replied, not in the mood for banter. It was petty, really, to be annoyed about being kicked out, when he would not even be allowed to one of Obi-Wan's routine check-ups – not that he had any desire to attend one. He took a deep breath and let the feeling go. "Although he does strike me as more respectful."

"That probably got beaten into him," Obi-Wan remarked. "And he can be really annoying if he sets his mind to it."

"Not an easy life, young Sarin had," Yoda said.

"That is not an excuse for turning to the Dark Side." Mace Windu seemed a bit flustered.

Yoda gave one of his more enigmatic scowls. "An excuse, there never is. But the explanation, interesting to hear it would be."

* * *

"What is your original skin color, anyway, bené?" 

"Dark," Khameir said.

"Your father was one of my people, hn?"

"Probably."

Yassina didn't say anything for a while and continued poking at the scar on his back.

"That doctor did a good job sewing you up, at least. He didn't hurt any muscles, so you should be able to reach your former level of agility. I'll put some bacta ointment on it, to reduce the scarring."

He could hear the spluttering of something being squeezed out of a tube. The sensation of the cool gel being worked into his skin was soothing a pain he had learned to ignore; he sighed and inclined his head for better access.

"The humans don't care much for things like that," she said, completely out of the blue. "And they're right about it. It's not like anyone could choose their parents, hn?"

"I know." For a moment he was five again and someone else tried to teach him the same lesson; he could still feel the oppressive heat of noon in Choum Mathaoui and could still hear the waves slosh lazily against the cliff. That time he had argued that the knowledge didn't keep other people from treating him like shit.

A pat on his back let the images of the violently pink hut and the old man under a tree fade, and once again he was back in darkness.

"Let me take a look at your eyes now."

Warm fingertips rested lightly against his temples; she was using the Force, and he couldn't feel it. He clenched his fists and forced himself to breathe.

After what felt like an eternity, Yassina removed her hands and sighed.

"I have bad news, bené."

"I thought so."

* * *

One after the other, the council members had gotten bored and left, leaving Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon with only Mace Windu, who brought them up to date with the goings on in politics. 

"Palpatine? Now that is a surprise."

Obi-Wan silently agreed. He'd never met the man, but his Master had given the description 'smarmy' after he'd been forced to attend a meeting of the Senate somewhere before their last mission.

"We were expecting Bail Antilles, actually, since Naboo is a such a small planet", Master Windu said. "On the other hand, I am certain that Chancellor Palpatine advised Queen Amidala to call for a vote of no confidence, so he had to be sure it would be him."

"Hmm. Sympathy votes do not really explain that large a majority."

"I think they believe he can reinstall stability."

The two Masters continued to talk, while Obi-Wan hung back. He bit his lip and tried to make sense of a new thought.

Maul had attacked them on Tattooine… it wasn't very likely for any Sith to just start slaughtering random Jedi if the eventual objective was the destruction of the complete order.

That meant neither he nor Qui-Gon had been chance targets.

The whole blockade of Naboo had therefore been a part of the Sith master's plan. But it had been bound to fail as soon as Chancellor Valorum had called the Jedi in, and Obi-Wan couldn't see the greedy and calculating Trade Federation invade a planet without the approval of the Senate.

But who profited from the whole debacle?

The answer was out there somewhere, he just knew it. He only needed to let it stew some time.

Master Windu was just about to scold Qui-Gon again for not simply trading the Nubian for a smaller, intact vessel, when the door opened and Healer Yassina emerged.

Her usual smile had disappeared somewhere along the line.

"So, how is the Sith, Healer Ba'Khadije?" Mace Windu sounded calm, but there was an underlying hint of testiness.

She sighed. "Not well, Councilor. Physically, he's very weak, because he was confined to a small cell for about three weeks, and had to heal quite a number of surgical wounds as well as pneumonia. However, it's nothing regular meals and exercise won't take care of. He's also blind, and no, before you ask, a cornea transplant wouldn't help."

Obi-Wan winced.

"Will you also do me the favor and look at him just with your Force-senses," the Healer continued.

Both Masters closed their eyes and their sudden concentration was almost palpable. Curious about what she'd meant, Obi-Wan started looking, too, but couldn't find anything. Well, Maul was breathing, and his heart rate was a bit elevated, but that was it. It was very, very disturbing.

"Fascinating," Master Windu said.

"One could see it like that, I suppose." Qui-Gon was clearly having the same bad feeling about this as Obi-Wan.

"And I see a breakdown waiting to happen, Masters. Maybe he will be able to work himself out of this funk, but I suspect not. I think it's best if he stayed with Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi for the time being, because you two are the most familiar persons to him, like it or not. Don't let him out of your sight. If it doesn't get better, we'll have to try something more drastic."

Translation: they were babysitting a potentially suicidal Ex-Sith. Obi-Wan sighed. Things wouldbe a lot easier if they had freed Maul on Darvin Four.


	2. Chapter 2

Regroup (2/5)

* * *

Khameir woke up feeling tired. He'd slept like the dead, he knew that, but it obviously hadn't helped. Additionally, his stomach had decided to turn into a knot. Even the thought of breakfast made him queasy.

He listened out for and did not find Obi-Wan, who had offered his bed and slept on his couch for the night. Why they wouldn't let him have a room of his own, Khameir wasn't sure. Granted, he needed someone to steer him clear of obstacles, but he didn't need a supervisor.

They didn't trust him, after all, he realized. No matter what he did, they wouldn't trust him.

There was a soft whoosh as the door slid open.

"Khameir?" Qui-Gon, wonderful.

"What?"

"You are not all right."

"I have not been all right for a while now," Khameir answered and struggled to sit.

"I noticed. Look –"

"No, I can't look. No thanks to you."

For a moment, only breathing could be heard.

"Khameir… You know we would have freed you if there had been a slim chance…"

"Master Jinn… no, I don't know that. And now get out."

To his surprise, Qui-Gon actually did leave. It would have been nice to hurt him some more.

Khameir rolled up on his side and waited for the shaking to subside.

* * *

"Maul?" Obi-Wan asked tentatively, peering into the bedroom.

"Leave me alone." The voice sounded slightly muffled, because its owner was currently hiding under the blankets. Also, after the sudden eruption of anger half an hour ago, Maul was back to being, well, not exactly hollow, but almost. There was some physical pain, as well as confusion. Strange.

"You need to have some breakfast."

"I cannot eat at the moment."

"Oh. So it's your stomach that hurts."

"Yes." That sounded rather testy. Not good.

"You were projecting."

"Ah."

"I could heat up some broth."

"No."

"You do need to get your strength back."

"Do I?"

So this was what the Healer had meant – Maul was maybe not inclined to jump off the balcony, but he was perfectly capable of starving himself. Obi-Wan walked over to the bed and sat. "I'm going to touch your shoulder now."

_Cold… what is that smell… don't breathe, he's trying to gas you… _

Obi-Wan recoiled. What in seven Sith hells was this about? He shook his head, to get rid of the panic emanating from Maul. Once he could concentrate again he'd realized that the other had scrambled away from him.

"Uh. Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Maul shook his head jerkily. Whatever that had been, it had reduced him to a quivering heap, which wasn't something Obi-Wan had been prepared to see. Scathing sarcasm, always. Anger – Sith were all about anger. Despair was more recent, and Qui-Gon had managed to talk Maul out of it, even if he'd made use of a hypothesis for it.

"What is happening to me?" The question was so soft Obi-Wan almost didn't catch it.

"I'm not sure. Maybe it's because of your trauma." Well, it probably was, but that was something only Healers would know about.

"My trauma?" Maul spat. "Whatever happened… is over." He stopped and breathed through his nose a few times; anger receded and left weariness. "So why am I not on my merry way and plotting revenge on my master?"

"I don't think being on any merry way after what you went through would be considered a healthy response."

"It would be better than this." Maul made a vague gesture.

"I don't know. Qui-Gon's gone to the Healers for some answers. Will you eat now?"

Sighing, Maul dry-washed his face. "You will not stop pestering me," he stated in defeat.

"Of course not. So come on." Obi-Wan hopped off the bed and strode to the door, before he remembered. He turned and watched as Maul felt his way off the bed and inched along it, with an expression of disgust on his face.

* * *

"He yelled at you? That's good news." The Healer stopped her pacing and leaned against her desk, sending a cloud of dust to hover in the sunlight.

Qui-Gon blinked, although he had expected a reaction of that kind.

"What exactly was he angry about?"

"I am not sure. It started building up, so I went to see what had him riled, and he proceeded to blame me for everything that happened to him."

"Are you to blame?" Healer Yassina looked at him sharply.

"I would think not. It was a no win situation. Obi-Wan and I barely escaped, and if we had gone back for Khameir, we would have been captured again."

"Good. Whatever else he throws at you, you know it's not your fault. Don't let him make you believe otherwise."

"Hmm. So why is him being irrational good news?"

"It's better than him being completely detached. His mind shut down any emotion for a while, to keep him sane, I suppose. He almost panicked when I examined him as it is. It's common enough for posttraumatic stress disorder, although I've never seen anyone disintegrate so fast. It usually takes a while for symptoms to develop."

"Do you have any guess as to why he reacts like this?"

"I don't know him well enough. Maybe you should ask why everyone else doesn't react as he did. You might consider to ask if he has a reason to stay sane."

Right now, Khameir had precious little reason for hope, Qui-Gon had to admit. "I will have to think about that. – There is something else I wanted to know. You are a fount of information on Zabraks, but why exactly is Khameir's surname so important you won't even talk about it?"

The Healer leaned back and stared at him, speechless. She looked a bit like a fish out of water. "I didn't want to embarrass him," she finally said.

"Don't you think it might be crucial for me to understand him a little better?"

"I suppose, although it's really his story to tell. If you were more familiar with Iridonia, you'd know that he's actually missing a name, the equivalent of a 'son of…'. It means his mother wasn't married when she had him, and single mothers are not taken kindly to with the Coast people."

Qui-Gon nodded. 'The explanation, interesting to hear it will be.' One shouldn't think people nowadays could be so ignorant, no matter how backwater the planet. But then, Padmé had been surprised to hear that there were still slaves.

With a little twinge of guilt he remembered the Skywalkers. He could have bought them free, but he had not. He had been so set in his believe the Force would let Anakin win, only to find it had played a trick on him. It had led him into slavery… and now here they were, with a former Sith Lord as their charge. Maybe the whole matter had had a purpose after all. If only it had been less damaging to Khameir.

* * *

Somewhere along the line, things had gone surreal again. Khameir was watching himself sit in one of the gardens of the Temple, if one could call it watching. His mind was painting a vivid image of lawns and trees, but that could be wrong.

It was late spring and the flowers were almost too much for his nose; odors so sweet and heavy they almost had made him gag.

Qui-Gon was somewhere near him. He'd explained to Khameir about posttraumatic stress disorder, and that it was completely understandable.

It was also a sign of weakness.

A cool pricking sensation on his head made him pause. There was another, and another. Rain. Weather control didn't let it rain often on Coruscant. Back home, they would have smelled the approaching clouds hours earlier.

"Let's go inside," Qui-Gon said.

"Not yet." The rain had gotten him back into his body, and maybe it would keep him there for a while.

"You like rain?"

"Yes."

"I do not imagine there is a lot of it where you come from."

"About two weeks every year."

It would make the desert come to life, going from dusty brown to lush green almost over night. Another memory crept up, Satiya in the garden with only a soaked white tunic on. Orange eyes beckoning him to worship her, his beautiful, enticing, merciless goddess.

He had made her pay for her deceit, later, because he'd become a Sith and Sith weren't toys.

Still, he'd been toyed with in the first place, which was yet another sign of weakness.

"Khameir, come on. You'll get a cold on top of everything else."

Or maybe his pneumonia would chance a repeat performance, taking his weak mind and fragile body to rest. But Qui-Gon tapped him on the shoulder, so he let himself be helped up and steered inside.

* * *

_Light. Blinding white light from somewhere overhead. You try to get away from it, but you can't. Someone has fixed your arms and legs to a table. Still you struggle against the bonds._

"_Now, now," someone says. He has a cackling voice, he's amused. Something cold flows up your left arm, and the struggle is leeched out of your body._

_A hand with a scalpel enters your line of vision. The metal gleams in the lamplight. It comes to rest somewhere on your chest. There's a slight pressure that slowly wanders down._

_You hear a noise, it's odd, as if someone is ripping through fabric, but softer, wetter. He's cutting you up, and it doesn't even hurt. Something trickles along your skin, blood, blood from your wound, but why isn't it hot?_

_There is a flux of air against your ear, and you turn your head._

"_Hello, my young apprentice," the man with the hood says. "He's flaying you, you know. I will put your hide up in the training room, I think. So your successors don't make the same mistakes."_

Obi-Wan shot up, his heart beating like it wanted out of its cage. He could scarcely breathe, and, rubbing his chest, he wondered why there was no incision to be felt. Where the hell had that come from? It had to be Maul projecting, because Obi-Wan's subconscious surely wouldn't produce that kind of images.

The door opened to reveal Qui-Gon, a dark silhouette against the light in the living room. After looking at Obi-Wan dumbly for a second, he strode in and went to the business of waking Maul up.

By the time Obi-Wan had managed to free himself of his tangled covers, Qui-Gon had draped Maul's head in his lap and started to massage the younger man's shoulders. That Maul wasn't protesting was indication of just how badly the dream had affected him. Blind panic was still seeping out of his curled form, and Obi-Wan wondered why none of the neighbors had come investigating yet.

He plopped down next to Qui-Gon, who was calm, as always. Obi-Wan needed that. Even thinking about the nightmare made him want to retch, although it wasn't really the sensations that did it, but more the casual cruelty behind them. And the fact that escape was not an option. Ever.

Slowly, the tension level sank back to normal.

"Khameir?"

"Hmm."

"It is going to be all right. You'll-"

"It's not." Maul extracted himself from Qui-Gon's grasp and sat, knees drawn up, facing them.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. And they were calling him a pessimist. The constant angst was grating on his nerves, justified as it was. He would never be a counselor with an attitude like this, he knew that, so he had no qualms about letting his Master take over the responsibility.

* * *

Qui-Gon studied Khameir for a moment. He really hoped they would not have to deal with a depression.

"Why do you think that?" Qui-Gon asked.

"He'll find me. No matter what I do, he'll find me," Khameir whispered.

"You are talking about your master, I presume." Qui-Gon had not been privy to the dream's content, but it had been bad enough for him to feel it along the Master-Padawan bond. In the beginning, he had actually believed it was Obi-Wan dreaming.

"Who else?" A raised non-eyebrow for asking stupid questions.

"Of course. But I doubt he has an idea that you are here. Only the Council and the Healer know your history. To everyone else, you are just a brave soul who helped us escape from the slavers."

"Hmph." Khameir was clearly not convinced.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Qui-Gon decided to try another approach. "Is there any reason your master should assume that you actually helped a Jedi?"

"No."

"There you have it. All you have to do now is help us find him and he won't be a threat to you anymore."

"I told you I cannot do that." The former Sith shuffled away from him a little.

"He betrayed you in the first place," Obi-Wan interjected.

"He merely rid himself of a worthless apprentice."

The quiet acceptance in that statement nearly made Qui-Gon shiver. "Yes, you clearly are not a model Sith," he tried to lighten the mood a little. "But I would never call you worthless."

Khameir snorted. "Right. When it was all my fault in the first place."

That comment left Qui-Gon speechless for a moment, and provoked some rather undignified feelings from Obi-Wan.

_If you think this discussion is a waste of time, why don't you go somewhere else, Padawan?_

Obi-Wan shrugged in response, but stayed put.

"Why would it be your fault?" Back to the topic at hand. Maybe they were actually making some progress here.

"I should have waited. I should have assessed the situation before barging in. I-"

"Now wait a moment." Self-blame was common enough for victims, the Healer had said. Qui-Gon could only try to talk Khameir out of it. "You are talking about Tattooine, am I right? – What exactly were you told to do?"

"Capture the Queen and make her sign the treaty," Khameir recited dully.

"So you were actually taking your last chance before we left," or at least it had to look like that to an outsider.

"One could put it that way."

"And it would have worked if not for Kala's Force-inhibiting device." Qui-Gon hit the mattress to emphasize his point.

"Yes." Khameir obviously was very sure about his fighting abilities, but that would have to wait for another time.

"I cannot see what you could have done differently if you did not want to fail."

"Hmph."

"Things like that just happen sometimes, Khameir." Qui-Gon winced, realizing how cheap the line sounded. "If it is anyone's fault, blame Kala, or blame the Force."

"So you suggest all this was the will of the Force." One could almost hear the disbelief drip out of that statement.

"Who can say," Qui-Gon shrugged. "The Force moves in mysterious ways. But it might just have offered you the opportunity to change your life."

"I wish I could share your optimism."

"Think about it. If not for Kala, you would still be groveling at your master's feet, until you were either ready to take over, or until he decided you were expendable."

Khameir nodded. His face had taken on a hard look, but it was not directed at Qui-Gon.

_Seems like you did it, Master,_ Obi-Wan's voice echoed through the bond.

_Don't expect too much, Padawan. He'll still be irrational about this._

_But not this badly, I hope._

_

* * *

_

Khameir listened to the Jedi's breathing and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the quiet companionship, although why they offered it, and why they were making such an effort, eluded him.

Contrary to his master's teachings, they were even capable of some logic. While Qui-Gon's argumentation had been flawed – Khameir could have avoided captivity if he had just stopped to think before he acted – it had not been completely off. Lord Sidious had the prerogative to kill any apprentice that he thought inept, or to send them on a suicide mission. Khameir knew that he was not the first who had not lived up to his Master's standards. _Patience, my young apprentice…_ all the lectures considered, he was lucky to be alive.

* * *

Obi-Wan eyed Maul warily. They were in the garden, and Maul had sprawled out on the lawn and radiated content, if only faintly. Things were almost normal for once, and that was rather odd, given his previous behavior. Come to think of it, Maul had been pleasantly polite as well as well as collected the whole day. The only time he had gotten uncomfortable was when Qui-Gon had tried to address the nightmare.

Still, Master was off to consult the Healer again, and that left Obi-Wan as babysitter. Not that sitting out in the sunshine was so arduous a task. As long as they were keeping up their truce – I don't talk to you, and you don't talk to me – everything would be fine. Neither of them was keen on more deep, nerve wracking conversation, so they had silently agreed to just enjoy the good weather.

It wouldn't make the issues go away, but they had earned a right to pretend it for a while.

* * *

Khameir couldn't remember how long it was since he'd last just done nothing on purpose. With Sidious, his days had been filled by training and meditation. He wouldn't even have thought about doing something as frivolous as basking in the sun or playing a hologame – though the latter wasn't an option anymore.

He wondered idly what had happened to his treasured copy of The Middle Countries. His mother had probably sold it. When he'd gone back for the tattoo colors, he'd looked himself up in the database and had discovered he'd been declared dead.

Strange that they hadn't assumed he'd run away. Maybe it had been a Force-suggestion by Sidious. One could never know.

Now Darth Maul was dead, too. It was an odd kind of freedom fate had handed him here. One he would not be able to enjoy with his master always just around the corner. Especially if they deigned to remove the inhibitor – Sidious would sense him then.

There had to be a way out, before his master even discovered Khameir was still alive and kicking, and he was sure he could find it. Almost.

Brooding on it didn't help, as he had discovered, so he shelved the thoughts until his unconscious came up with a solution.

"Hey, Maul."

Obi-Wan was poking him in the ribs.

"What?"

"You fell asleep."

"I did not ask you to wake me."

"My Master did."

"Ah." Khameir sat and instinctively reached out for the Force, trying to find out where Qui-Gon was. There was no response, and why would that still surprise him? He shook his head, trying to forget that deep, desperate emptiness inside. He needed the Force back, no question. Soon, because a world without any direction was slowly driving him crazy. He also needed to get a grip, wallowing in self-pity like yesterday wasn't helping. If anything, it accelerated his descent into madness.

"What is so important that it can't wait?"

"The Healer would like to see you," Qui-Gon said.

"I'm not going back there." How had he coped with the smell two days ago? Antiseptics and disease and old blood.

"Khameir?" A warm hand on his shoulder. "There is no need for you to panic. She'll come over to our quarters."

He nodded. There was no reason to panic at all. _So get your breathing under control. It's just self-pity, remember?_

_

* * *

_

Once again, they were waiting outside while Maul was being alone with the bossy healer.

"What did she say?" Obi-Wan asked.

"That I should consider a career as a therapist." Qui-Gon sounded rather amused.

"Now really."

"Yes, really. I believe she is overestimating my abilities, but apparently my intuition on the matter is not that far off. She said we should continue to offer help, but not pressure him. She also advised me to badger Mace a little, so the Council does not make too many demands. But I cannot see how they will ever allow to remove the inhibitor if Khameir does not cooperate."

"So far he seems to be holding up fine."

"He would not be jumping so much at unexpected sounds, I presume. Currently he is relying on us for everything, and I can tell he hates it."

* * *

"You're healing fine, bené."

"I know." The scars were not itching anymore.

"It's time to consider some physical therapy for you."

"No." He was not going to the infirmary. He was not going to be humiliated by being told what to do about his injuries.

"Bené…"

"I know how to deal with this. All I need is a room to exercise in."

"If you will let me oversee you, I'll find you one."

He nodded. It was the best deal he was going to get from her.


	3. Chapter 3

Regroup (3/5)

( to nannon: You're very welcome. It would really interest me why you think Captivity is the best Maul fic here…)

* * *

Khameir stood, feet hip-width apart and breathed.

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to call out to him – this was supposed to be physical therapy, after all. The Healer beside him was not getting restless, so he supposed it served a purpose.

After an excruciatingly long time Khameir finally lifted his hands, arms stretched, and let them sink again, then he shifted his weight to the right foot and slowly moved his arms until he looked like holding a ball.

Scratching his nose, Qui-Gon watched – Khameir was doing the slowest kata he had ever seen. In fact, it looked like it was supposed to be performed slowly; all movements had a certain dreamlike quality to them. To Qui-Gon's Force senses, Khameir was calm concentration. Maybe he was assessing the damage this way.

The form went on for a while, until Khameir stopped and began his breathing routine again, a little more labored this time. Finally he settled into a more familiar fighting stance.

"Would you consider to teach that style?" Qui-Gon asked.

Khameir cocked his head. "Of course. Once the inhibitor is removed."

He settled again and began a simple kickboxing drill; punches and low roundhouse kicks, moving steadily forward.

While Khameir moved, Qui-Gon did his own assessing – the younger man's balance was a little off, and most moves were slowed; a shadow of his former speed and grace.

After five repetitions Khameir stopped and stamped his foot on the floorboards once. With a nod, he held his hands in front of him, and took a few tentative steps forward, until he hit the wall. He turned and leaned against it, looking exhausted.

Qui-Gon stood, ready to walk over and help.

"I am fine," Khameir said sharply, so Qui-Gon decided to stay put. The Zabrak pushed himself off the wall and started the drill again, this time with some high roundhouse kicks and blocks thrown in.

It looked much better on the outside, but to the Force Khameir was a bundle of hate and anger. Qui-Gon could only guess who the focus was. He sighed; there had to be a way to teach the former Sith not to draw strength from negative emotions.

* * *

"You look like a herd of banthas trampled you," Mace Windu said genially and leaned back in his comfortable looking desk chair.

"Thank you." Qui-Gon smiled. It would not look heartfelt, but he did not care right now. He lowered himself into one of the visitor's seats, which was not comfortable at all.

"You should consider seeing a Healer."

"I am currently getting to see one once a day, Mace."

"Ah, yes. So how is the Sith?"

"I'm not sure. He is not so distressed anymore, but he is currently holding down a lot of anger and confusion. And he is having nightmares. I have stopped counting sometime after the fifth, but tonight it was so bad even Shaak Ti complained this morning."

Mace frowned at him.

"She is living two floors up from our apartment."

Finally understanding dawned. "Has he been offered medication? We can't have everyone in your wing sleep deprived because of him."

"He refused. And I do not believe they would help, Mace. He actually got better once the dreams started."

"How so?"

"He is less moody, and not as depressed as he was." Khameir was also less talkative, as if he was lost in his own little world, or as if he was pondering something. He had also shown a great deal of interest in politics yesterday, and spent several hours listening to the news channel.

"If you are hoping that I will take pity in him because of those dreams, you're wrong."

"I would not even think about that, Mace. But I believe he would be less insecure without the inhibitor, and he would be able to release a lot of his tension into the Force."

"Releasing feelings into the Force is not the Sith way."

"No, it is not. However, Khameir is not a Sith anymore. He will never be a Jedi, granted, but he is far cry from wishing death to us all."

"Be that as it may. I will not be convinced if he does not offer us complete honesty."

Badgering Mace Windu didn't work. Qui-Gon had failed to tell the Healer, who probably would not know, and he had hoped against all hope that there would be some movement. They were so blind sometimes – they readily believed a Jedi could fall from grace, but believing the same of a Sith Lord was apparently impossible.

* * *

Maul was listening to the news again. He was doing a full split and was otherwise propped up on his elbows. It looked like it had to hurt, and Obi-Wan winced. At least the physical therapy was coming along nicely; Maul had taken to twist himself into knots when he was just sitting around in the past two weeks.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat to announce himself and the other folded up in one fluid movement.

"What is it that is so fascinating about the news?" Obi-Wan squatted down next to Maul.

"There might be undertones I can read. Hints."

"About your master?"

"Hmm."

"Really?" There would have been better things to say, but if Maul was so intent on the news, it had to mean Sidious was on it. He related that thought.

"Hmm," was the noncommittal answer.

"I'm on to something here, I know it. I always thought he was involved in the blockade of Naboo, otherwise you wouldn't have tried to kill us…"

"Exactly," Maul said, and then frowned. Obi-Wan could feel Maul's attention wander inward, maybe making sense of an idea.

"You want me to solve this puzzle, don't you?"

A shrug, and there wasn't even the tiniest hint of an emotion behind it.

Settling into a more comfortable position, Obi-Wan stared at the screen. That chin in Maul's dream looked rather familiar, maybe he could find it somewhere.

* * *

Qui-Gon returned to his quarters to find the news channel still on. It wasn't very loud – Khameir had good ears, but Qui-Gon had learned to appreciate silence in the past few days.

"I didn't think we would get you back in one piece, Master."

Obi-Wan and Khameir had turned from their places in front of the vid screen; Obi-Wan was staring at Qui-Gon, as if searching for injuries.

"Oh, Mace treated me like a raw egg, given that I already look like a zombie."

Khameir flinched at that and looked down. Qui-Gon sighed and slowly sat on the floor. "Please do not feel guilty because of this. You know that we could have handed you over to the Healers or drugged you up if we did not want to deal with it."

"I suppose."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and Qui-Gon silently agreed.

"So you already are feeling guilty. Will you realize that you're talking to two grown men who can make their own decisions?"

"But…"

"No but. I care for you because I want to. Not because I feel obligated."

Both Obi-Wan and Khameir were stunned.

"Good. Now that we have settled this, can I explain what I gathered from Master Windu?"

"Go ahead," Khameir said in a clipped voice.

"Thank you. He hinted that the Council is getting a little impatient with you. I am sure they won't do anything about this until the Healers say that you have your mental faculties back, but once everyone thinks you are well again, they will not hesitate to use force. Do you understand what that means?"

"Yes."

The trembling started again. Khameir was digging his hands into the carpet, but he wasn't fooling anyone. Qui-Gon reached for them and held on.

"That's still a long time into the future. But I wanted to ask you to cooperate when the time comes."

Khameir ripped his hands loose. "I told you that I will not betray my master."

"Even when he betrayed you?" And how often would they have to have this conversation?

"That is not the issue here. Would you betray the last living Jedi to a Sith?"

Qui-Gon blinked. The reasoning was rather logical, he had to admit. Still… "Why would you be loyal to your order when it isn't loyal to you?"

"But it was. Lord Sidious gave me a purpose and a feeling of self-worth in a time when a jump down the cliffs looked increasingly attractive. His training methods were not what you would call humane, but they made me what I am. I would not wish to trade my skills for anything."

"You liked what you did." How easy it had been to forget this.

"Mostly." Khameir gave him a condescending look.

"Why?"

"I like hunting, and I like fighting. He had me do both more often than not."

"I see."

"You are as blind as I am."

Qui-Gon exhaled sharply, at a loss for words.

"What do you mean?" Obi-Wan piped in.

"You Jedi are sitting behind walls. You just pretend to know what it is like outside."

"What are you implying? That we are ignorant fools?" Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes.

"Hypocritical. You pretend, and you do not even realize it. You see and you judge, but in the end, you do not know what you are judging."

"And do you know what you are judging?"

"I would never dream of telling you what to do."

"I am not telling you what to do, Khameir."

"But you have expectations, Qui-Gon. You are pressing me in a shape that a Jedi can understand, when you do not even have an idea what I went through. When you do not even know your own parents or-"

* * *

"From what I hear, you don't know either," Obi-Wan interrupted, and found himself on the wrong end of a glare. It was impressive how Maul managed that without being able to see.

"And you did not learn that insulting someone's parents is not advisable," Maul continued, coldly. "I have parents. Note the plural form. I had the good luck to be able to choose the person who taught me to fight and gave me advise on girls and was willing to get me out of trouble. I am better off without the selfish bastard my biological father was, so keep your immature mouth shut."

"Khameir… I'm sorry. I'm sure that my Padawan here is quite sorry, too, to have spoken so out of line." Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.

Obi-Wan quickly nodded, until he remembered that Maul couldn't see. "Um. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"You were getting carried away by your anger. However, it was not your argument."

"I know. It won't happen again."

Maul made a small approving gesture. Being taught about controlling his anger from someone four months his junior – and Sith – was embarrassing. Yet, just the way the Zabrak carried himself and from the things he said sometimes, he seemed a good five years older. And he inspired respect, which was a trick Obi-Wan would have loved to learn.

"I believe we should table any argument until you are better, Khameir," Qui-Gon interjected.

"Until I'm more rational? Believe what you will, Qui-Gon."

The former Sith stood and made his painstakingly slow way to Obi-Wan's room.

"Seems your 'all he needs is a hug' approach failed," Obi-Wan said when the door had closed.

"Seems like it, indeed. And we will never know if our trust in him is justified unless we remove that inhibitor."

"You're still willing to take the risk?"

"Yes. I really believe he does not wish harm to the Jedi, but the fact remains that he was trained as a killer. That kind of talent needs to be carefully guided."

"I doubt he will agree to someone making decisions for him."

"That is what I fear." And his Master didn't like that one bit, Obi-Wan could tell.

Being a lab rat on Hoth had had it's advantages. He did not have to put up with Qui-Gon Jinn's savior complex, for one.

For whatever infuriating reason, the dear Master wanted to believe Khameir was a victim; someone who let things happen to him, instead of the other way round. The man had no idea, really. If Khameir had been a victim, he would have been dead by now. No matter what Qui-Gon thought, Khameir was not used to being picked on. Sure, people had tried, and everyone before Kala – no scratch that, it had been his master, in the end – had failed to break him. There was a reason Sidious had picked him in the first place.

Sometimes he wished he could kill his former master. But it was impossible, he was too weak, even with the Force, and the Sith needed to continue.

Qui-Gon's talk of a gray area had occupied a lot of his thoughts. There had to be a way between only serving and mere dominance. But to get gray, you needed black and white. If you eradicated the dark side, the light would need to produce new darkness to have balance. You could not get one without the other. Killing or containing Sidious would not do; better a known evil than an unknown. Running away would not be that hard, and there was a small but elegant way to die again and again if necessary – to be dead to the Force, all he had to do was getting stuffed up on enough dreamweed or something similar for a while. It would fry a few brain cells and wreak havoc on his liver, but livers, at least, were resilient.

Also, Obi-Wan's comment was slowly eating away at him. _"You want me to solve this puzzle, don't you?"_ Did he?

* * *

Breakfast next morning was a subdued affair. Qui-Gon was still as miffed at Khameir as the Force allowed him to be, that much was obvious, and Obi-Wan had opted to forgo a discussion by turning the holovid on and watching the news, again. It was something about an upcoming vote in the Senate.

Khameir didn't really listen; if everything went according to Sidious's plan, the bill would pass and give the Chancellor more legal capacity in crises.

Just before things were really getting uncomfortable, someone called in on the comm unit and asked them to report to the Council in an hour.

"I had hoped they would give you more time to recover," Qui-Gon said.

"I do not mind." Khameir slowly hid his hands under the table to keep up the pretense of calm. Qui-Gon wasn't that bad at guilt trips either. His whole taking on a fallen Sith lord had the air of a very big guilt trip, in fact.

"Still…"

"You hoped that I would change my opinion."

"Yes."

"I cannot do that. But perhaps they do not have to interrogate me at all."

"Excuse me?" Qui-Gon said. Khameir shot him an enigmatic smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Regroup (4/5)

Healer Yassina met them in the antechamber and fussed a bit over Khameir. Ostensibly he was here only because the Council wanted to make sure the Healer wasn't protecting him, as they happened to be from the same planet.

They were made to wait a while, which was, according to Obi-Wan, standard procedure. It was a good tactic, Khameir had to concede – he'd never been known for his patience. Qui-Gon might have scolded him for thinking it, but exactly his impatience had gotten him into this mess. It would not be his downfall again.

He made himself stop picking at his earring and tried to ground himself as well as he could without a connection to the Force.

Finally, after half an eternity, they were told to enter. Obi-Wan offered to lead Khameir, which was just as well. With the upcoming topic the Padawan would be a much better back-up than Qui-Gon, and he was less emotionally involved, too. On the way here the Jedi Master had made a rather jumpy guide.

After the usual amount of formal greetings, the Healer and Qui-Gon retreated to the back.

"How feel you?" Yoda's scratchy voice asked.

Khameir had expected a lot of things, but not that.

"Uncomfortable."

"Why?"

"There are currently fifteen people in this room, staring at me. And I cannot stare back."

"Honest you are."

"Lying would be extremely foolish."

"Clever you are, too. Full of witty comebacks."

"What he means is that we have reason to doubt you're mentally incapacitated," Master Windu interjected.

Khameir took a deep breath. He could do this, right? He'd told Qui-Gon so.

"Mace…" This voice was female, soft, but firm.

"What is it?"

"He's close to blind panic. I can't condone you playing mind games with someone who's so scared." Well, thank you lady, for calling the bluff. At least now he didn't have to steady his hands anymore.

Obi-Wan squeezed his arm once.

"Um, Councilors…" So the Padawan was hanging on to Khameir, if he read that correctly. What an odd pair they made. "I know who the Sith Master is."

There was a susurrus of moving fabric.

"Enlighten us you will, hm?" Who would have guessed – Yoda had a sense of humor.

"It's Supreme Chancellor Palpatine."

Silence. Only breathing could be heard, while Obi-Wan shifted from one foot to another. Khameir tried to exude some reassuring vibes, maybe the Padawan would feel them.

"And you are absolutely serious about this?"

"Yes, Master Windu."

"How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Maul was ordered to capture Queen Amidala, so the involvement of the Sith in the blockade is obvious. As a consequence, Senator Palpatine was made Chancellor and just now introduced a bill to give him more power in times of crises. If he wants to take over the Republic and build an Empire, all he has to do is stir up enough trouble."

"Some impressive reasoning that is." No, it wasn't, but obviously the Council had concentrated on Khameir rather than looking at the bigger picture.

"Thank you, Master Yoda."

"What say you to this accusation, young Sarin?"

"I won't say anything."

"Hmm."

More rustling of fabric. They were letting it go, as expected, because they were Jedi and they owed him.

"We will have to discuss this. You are dismissed until further notice."

* * *

"If you would excuse us for a while, Khameir," Qui-Gon said and shoved the Zabrak into Obi-Wan's room. It was high time for a talk with his Padawan, and they didn't need a listener who might be manipulative enough to exploit what he heard.

Obi-Wan was looking at him and biting his lower lip, obviously afraid he was in for a scolding. Sighing, Qui-Gon refrained from telling the younger man to sit. It would very much set the wrong pace.

"I wanted to apologize, Obi-Wan."

"What for?"

"First… I should tell you how proud I am of you. You managed to solve a mystery that has eluded the Council for years. It's nothing anyone would have expected from a knight, and much less from a Padawan."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "It wasn't that hard. If you hadn't been so preoccupied, you would have figured it out yourself."

"I doubt that. Things like that are a gift from the Unifying Force, and sometimes I think I am completely immune to it…"

That won him a small smile.

"And you are absolutely right. I do spend too much of my energy on Khameir. It's…" Qui-Gon made a helpless gesture, trying to convey a sentiment even he, with all his training, did not understand. Khameir was just another 'pathetic lifeform', and why did Qui-Gon always have to take them on? A ghost whispered _redemption_ into his ear. Qui-Gon shook his head, in defiance.

"He makes it easy to worry about him," Obi-Wan supplied.

"Yes."

They were silent for a while. Obi-Wan had his shields up, deliberately, so the bond wasn't any help.

"I am sorry, Obi-Wan. I will spent more time with you again. I have been neglecting your training, and I am not sure I can forgive myself. Especially since you have proven that you are ready to take your trials."

"Apology accepted, Master. And, well, I think neither of us expected this when we headed for Hoth."

"Thank you. Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you as a Padawan."

Obi-Wan grinned. "Dumb luck?"

Qui-Gon smiled in response. "Do you think we can leave him on his own for a while? We could both use some exercise."

For a moment, Obi-Wan's eyes flickered to the closed door. "Sure. But there's something I need to hash out with him first."

A raised eyebrow wasn't met with an answer. Qui-Gon shrugged and went off to let the two younger men sort out their issues without him.

* * *

Maul sat cross-legged on the sheets. He was fiddling with that earring of his, his face turned questioningly towards Obi-Wan.

"Are you going to let me out now?"

"Depends." Obi-Wan stood, arms akimbo, before he remembered that intimidating stances were useless on a blind person. Nevertheless, he kept it, because it made him feel better.

"I was wondering what you are playing at," he added.

An expression of surprise flitted over Maul's face. "It would greatly help if you specified your meaning."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "You know perfectly well what I mean. On the one hand, you're being a diva and swear up and down that you won't betray the Sith. On the other hand, you practically tell me that your master is on the news. Why? What is your gain in this?"

Maul glowered at him. "Does there have to be one?" he snapped. "This way, your precious Council got what they wanted before I could be interrogated."

"That's true. But they didn't believe me. They would have believed you." Obi-Wan frowned and started to pace. That was it. Suddenly everything made sense. "They should lock you into a cell in the basement and throw away the keys," he spat.

Maul shrank back, as if he didn't understand the eruption at all. To Obi-Wan's Force-senses he was all discomfort and vague fear of the threat uttered. It was extremely gratifying. Then Obi-Wan squished that feeling. It did not become a Jedi to gloat.

"What exactly are you accusing me of?" Maul asked in a low voice.

"You attempted to save him. To save the Sith. The Council discussing your Master has to be one big blaring sign to him. To what end? You can't return to him. So why?"

Trembling with rage, Maul shook his head. "I do not have to explain my reasons to you."

"Of course you don't, but I'm going to warn the Council."

"No," Maul said with vehemence. "Hear me out. Please." The last word was barely a whisper.

"I don't think so. You'll just try to sweet-talk me into-"

The door opened, and Qui-Gon stuck his head in. He looked worried.

"Padawan, Khameir. The Council wants to see us."

"What happened?" Obi-Wan asked.

"There was an explosion at Chancellor Palpatine's residence. They are searching the ruins, but they do not have much hope to find him alive."

So it was already too late.

* * *

Obi-Wan had offered to guide Maul again, and the Zabrak hadn't protested, probably because he didn't want to alert Qui-Gon.

They didn't have to wait, and there was no time wasted on formalities.

"Know what happened you do, young Sarin. Feeling content with it, you are. Why?" The question seemed rhetorical to Obi-Wan.

"An explosion like this was my master's back up plan. It would eradicate all evidence as well as allow him plenty of time to escape." Maul's control was amazing. He stood there like it was nothing to face an angry Council, and all that betrayed him was his death grip for assurance or revenge on Obi-Wan's arm.

"So alive he is?"

"I believe so."

"This was all an elaborate ploy of yours to allow the Sith to continue," Mace Windu accused. So they had figured that out, too.

"Yes."

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise.

"Why?"

"For several reasons, Master Windu. As strange as it might sound, I do owe my former order. Also, the continued existence of the Sith might be essential for the balance of the Force."

"Think so you do, hmm?" Yoda had a thoughtful expression. The little alien looked shrewdly at Obi-Wan and wagged his eyebrows.

"Light and Dark are like the two sides of a coin, I believe. To destroy one might have disastrous consequences."

Maybe Obi-Wan had overreacted a bit earlier. Maul seemed sincere, at least, and the Council would surely call him on a lie.

"Not a very Sithly thought, that is."

"I had plenty of time to consider this. As well as inspiration."

Now that was a twisted compliment if Obi-Wan had ever heard one. He and Qui-Gon had helped Maul come up with a notion that was rather heretic.

"This would render our objectives as wrong as the Sith's," Ki-Adi-Mundi remarked quietly.

Maul shrugged. Obi-Wan had to admire the other's confidence in the matter, but in the end it was all Master's fault, with his talk of a possible gray area. Apparently, Maul was determined to make this purely theoretical place a reality by sheer force of will.

Yoda tapped his gimer stick on the ground a few times. Still it took some time until the disquiet faded. "Discuss this in peace, we will. Address the matter at hand, we have to."

"Ah, yes. Mister Sarin, do you know any possible hideouts for your master?" Mace Windu asked.

Obi-Wan suppressed a gasp of pain; Maul was amazingly strong for someone who was disabled. There would be a wonderful hand-shaped bruise on Obi-Wan's right arm in a few hours.

"No, not really."

"And if you had to guess?"

"He did not entrust me with that kind of knowledge. He could be anywhere from here to Naboo. He would, however, be in need of a new apprentice."

"That would rule out the Republic worlds."

"Yes."

They were dismissed unceremoniously. Outside, they passed several Knights and Masters with their Padawans – the Council wasn't wasting any time to put together a search team.

* * *

A week passed without any message from the Council. Khameir supposed that was good – Sidious was well away, and as long as they didn't remove the Force inhibitor, they had no hope of knowing what the Dark Side actually felt like.

Things were also slowly improving. He still had nightmares, but they didn't wake up anyone except him anymore. Going through katas blind and without even the Force to help him was a novelty, but it was useful exercise regarding his balance.

* * *

"I want to try something," Khameir said. He was training with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon; they had even provided him with a wooden saber.

"Yes?"

"I want you to attack me, Obi-Wan."

"You mean you want me to spar with you? But…"

"I wish to see if the 'but' is justified."

"Hand to hand?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Fine. I'm coming to get your saber."

After some more objections from Qui-Gon, Khameir settled into a defensive stance and waited.

"You will have to attack me," he remarked after a while. Going after the sound of breaths was difficult.

"Fine."

Soft feet padding on the floor. One step, two, three, the fourth took a little too long.

Khameir tried a block for a roundhouse kick to his left, waist high. To his surprise, he actually caught a leg. He yanked and heard the satisfying thud of Obi-Wan landing on his backside.

"You are holding back. Try again."

Again, Obi-Wan approached, making less noise this time. Khameir got a kick to the thigh, landed a blow with his left somewhere on Obi-Wan's shoulder, blocked the counter with his right forearm – which hurt – tried another punch, found his arm yanked forward and himself flat on the ground with the said arm in a rather painful twist. Good, this was more like it. While being coddled was nice, he needed to know where he stood, performance-wise. It was bad, but he would improve. He patted the ground twice, giving up this round. Obi-Wan let him go, and he straightened up.

"Again."

After a few days of training, he was winning a third of the rounds, which was better than expected.

Yassina came to watch one day and congratulated him on his progress. She was chattering about it all the way to the gym's doorway, where he stopped and waited for either Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan to guide him.

"You could get a walking stick," she suggested.

"What for?"

"So you can get around the place without anyone else's help."

"I do not think I am allowed to venture outside alone. Also, by the time I would have learned how to operate a stick, I would not need it anymore." He refused to believe otherwise.

She sighed.

* * *

Mace Windu beckoned Qui-Gon and the Healer to take a seat.

"I wanted to hear about our patient," he said, as if Qui-Gon could not have guessed that.

"Physically, he is well, as I told you, Master," Healer Yassina answered. "So far he has responded well to therapy, thanks to Master Jinn, and he will continue to get better, up to a certain point."

"How so?"

"Mace, he still hopes that you will let the inhibitor be removed soon. If you refuse, there is no telling what he would do."

"He wouldn't be able to do as much damage as with the Force. He has proved that he is not trustworthy by letting his master escape."

Qui-Gon sighed. Mace was right, but he didn't deal with Khameir on a daily basis. "He just might decide to jump off our balcony."

"It would make a nasty stain on the ground," the Healer remarked.

A three hundred meter fall did this, yes. And it was a balcony on the street side. People would know someone jumped from the Temple. It was not good publicity.

"I see," Mace said coolly.

"We're not trying to blackmail you, Mace. If you would name your conditions, we could try and make him comply." He would not see all that intelligence and passion waste away.

"Very well. The Council will discuss this tomorrow. You can expect a call in the next four days."

"Thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

Regroup (5/5)

The setting was becoming increasingly familiar. Once again they were facing the Council, and once again Maul was hanging on to Obi-Wan for dear life, although the Masters were in a good mood today.

"We have discussed this matter at great length," Master Windu said. "We will remove the inhibitor if you agree to a mind probe. We need to be absolutely certain that you do not wish harm to the order. After that, you will stay at the Temple until we are sure that you are not a danger to society."

This was not unexpected, but still Maul's grip on Obi-Wan's arm tightened.

"I agree, provided you only go where you need to go."

Oh, hell. But Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan would happily pick up the pieces, as always.

"That should be understood," Master Billaba said.

"Good. Will you do it now?"

"Are you certain you do not want to wait until you are better?"

"At the moment I cannot tell if you are Councilor Gallia or Councilor Billaba. Does that answer your question sufficiently?" Brutal honesty was an excellent tool sometimes, Obi-Wan thought.

"It's Master Billaba. And yes, I think the answer is sufficient. If you would relax now…"

Which was easier said than done, if the mental turmoil Obi-Wan got from Maul was any indication. On instinct, he pried his arm loose and offered his hand to hold on to instead. Qui-Gon had moved closer, too, and put his hands on Maul's shoulders from behind, in an invitation to lean back and let go if necessary.

With their combined effort they actually made him relax.

* * *

The situation was embarrassing, his façade of control was crumbling rapidly, to a point where he relied on Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan for help, and everyone in the room knew. Still he tried to do as he was told; the body warmth from the two Jedi reassuring him.

He closed his eyes and tried to meditate, and then a slow ripple disturbed the blank surface of his mind.

Images from his time on Hoth – had that really been only a month ago? – were discarded quickly; they were making good on their promise. Fast forward to his conversation with Qui-Gon on the ship.

"_You are not the same man who wished destruction and death to all the Jedi. You do not wish death upon me, do you?"_

"_No, I don't."_

They dug deeper there, were looking for any kind of deception, and couldn't find it, because he'd been honest then. And now that he knew the Jedi better, he had even less reason to hate them. Pompous as they sometimes were, their level of bigotry wasn't higher than any other institution's, and most importantly, it wasn't their fault. Whatever had gone wrong with his life, it wasn't their responsibility, as Sidious had wanted him to believe.

They wandered along that stray thought to the beginning, humid heat enveloped him and in the sky there hung a fat moon…

… Satiya had left. He whirled his sword through the air, chopping at a mental image of the traitor. He'd woken up this morning to a cold bed, and he'd found her note on the table, spouting some 'it's not you, it's me' nonsense, but probably she'd just gotten bored with him. All plans forgotten, all dreams buried. The desert had swallowed her, like it had swallowed Helal, who was off on some spiritual business with his old tribe.

Just when he needed them, both had left, so here he was, to fight on his own, without a lover promising to kick everyone's ass and without a teacher willing to give advice. His mother was not much help, she never was much help… _You can't expect your uncle to pay for university, he's already saved us from being beggars, so it's completely alright to waste your talent by_ _working in his factory as a security guard_… He took aim and cut a moth, that trundled in front of him on it's quest for a light, into two equal pieces.

There was something else in the air. He spun around and let his blade hover at the throat of a stranger, a gray haired human with a black cloak and a benign smile.

"Creeping up on me is not advisable," Khameir said, and lowered his sword.

The stranger's smile grew even wider. "Yes, yes. I was privy to your little trick just now. You have an extraordinary talent."

"It is not very useful, though," Khameir said, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, it is. It also proves that you are the person I am looking for."

"You have a job offer?"

Another of those wide smiles. "I have far more to offer than a mere job."

Interesting. Khameir invited the stranger into the hut; originally Helal's, but his for the time being.

"So what is it that you're offering? And who are you, anyway?"

"I shall tell you my name if you agree to be my apprentice… and I offer power."

"What kind of power?"

"Oh… you must have realized by now that you are different from other people. You have quicker reflexes. You know the outcome of a coin toss, or who is lurking around the next corner. The truth is that you are Force-sensitive."

Khameir blinked. It wasn't a surprise, really, it simply felt like he was finally remembering something he'd known for a long time, and forgotten.

"The Jedi, in their arrogance, have refused to train you", the stranger said.

Inside, Khameir could feel an invisible fist clench. All this time, he could have been living with the Jedi… but instead, he was slavering away on this dust ball, with no chance of ever getting off.

The stranger inclined his head, as if agreeing to that thought.

"I offer to teach you. Better, I will show you how to use and unleash the power you have, not like the Jedi, who are weak and afraid of what they could do and squash their hate and anger. They forget that there is only power, and those too weak to use it… Together, we could rise to greatness and rule this galaxy."

They sounded like a holo vid about supervillains, Khameir thought idly. But it was tempting, getting out, doing something that presented a challenge… "What do you ask in return?"

"Hard work and obedience."

Khameir nodded. He could do that, if he knew it paid off later.

"I can see you are not as hot headed as most people your age. I will give you time to ponder this. My ship will leave the space port tomorrow at sunrise… be there if you choose to take matters into your own hands. You do not need to bring anything."

The stranger rose and swept out, cloak billowing.

Staring at the open door, Khameir did his pondering. It took approximately five minutes. There was no reason for him to stay on Iridonia; and now that he knew about the Force, there was simply no way to ignore it. He had to train, he had to live up to his full potential. It was something he owed himself.

He had a little doubt about 'ruling the galaxy', because he didn't like to deal out orders, but he supposed he would get used to the idea. He was only eighteen, after all…

Cold fingers explored that thread, impersonal eyes watched parts of his training, and turned every feeling he ever had about it upside down, pain, pride, humiliation, self-doubt.

Finally, they surfaced again, and his mind was left undisturbed.

The grip on his shoulders tightened, and only then he realized that he had sagged. He struggled to get his back straight again. Force, he was tired.

"The inhibitor will be removed as soon as Healer Ba'Khadije clears you for surgery," Mace Windu said.

* * *

It was back. The almost otherworldly awareness trickled into his mind as he left the realms of dream behind, showing him Force signatures. Two in the vicinity, several others outside the room… it was Obi-Wan's room, he remembered, it smelled familiar, comforting… they had knocked him out here, too, to spare him the sterility of the Healer's wing.

All around, these others were, and they felt foreign, they burned with a calm, bright light, whispering about peace and serenity and duty and compassion.

Years ago, he might have thought to be a falcon among pigeons… but that was wrong, they had strength, too… power over yourself rather than power over others… he would never be able to follow them there, not completely, too wrapped up in the world and his senses… speaking of which… he needed to know where he was.

And he pulled the Force to him and soared.

* * *

Ripples in the Force suggested that Khameir was slowly drifting toward consciousness. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon drew closer to the bed – now they would see if the former Sith had been redeemed. Mace Windu, Yoda, as well as Depa Billaba and Ki-Adi-Mundi were waiting outside, just in case.

Still, the explosion of triumph, sheer joy and the mental 'Yesss!' that accompanied them hit Qui-Gon somewhat unprepared. It danced around the room and spread as if to hug the Temple; only after long moments it subsided, which was unusual, but then, Khameir had never had Jedi training. He had never been supposed to let his feelings go.

And thus the emotional torrent faded slowly; it was almost as if it was, bit by bit, dragged inside again and maybe stored somewhere for later examination and exploitation.

Only then Khameir opened his eyes and maneuvered himself in a sitting position. He seemed to stare into nothingness for a while, then shook his head and fixed his eyes on Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. The sight was somehow even more eerie than before, now that he could focus again on images. Blind persons should not be able to look into your eyes, yet he did.

It would take a lot getting used to.

"Good morning, Khameir," Qui-Gon said.

"Yassina kept me out on purpose, didn't she?"

Bedside manners obviously were not Khameir's thing. The healer had had no qualms about sending the young man into surgery as soon as the Council had allowed it yesterday, although it felt longer, because Qui-Gon had sat here most of the night.

"I do not think so. How are you feeling?"

"Quite well, thank you." There was something wrong here. "Although I would appreciate it if you left me alone for a while."

_I don't like this, Master._ Obi-Wan obviously found this request somewhat suspicious, too.

"No, I will not leave," Qui-Gon said. _You go, Padawan. I will leave the discovery of plots gladly to you, but this is a job for the Living Force._

Khameir glared at him.

Qui-Gon waited until Obi-Wan had exited before he sat on the bed.

"Do you know about Jedi meditation, Khameir?"

"Only in theory. Your objective is to release all emotion to the Force."

"Exactly. It is a little like watching clouds. You watch the emotion drift across your mind, you examine it closely, your reasons for feeling it as well as the potential consequences of giving into it. Once you have done so, it has drifted from the surface of your mind and is released to the Force."

"And?"

"I want you to try this with the pain, the loss you are currently feeling. I know your instinct is to draw it into yourself and use it somehow, but I believe it will not do anything but make you bitter and turn you back to the Dark Side."

"The Council might accuse you of collaboration." Tactics of evasion, lesson one.

"They might. But I do this to help you, and I ask you to let me help. It would break my heart to see you throw away all your potential."

Khameir kept silent for a while.

* * *

He'd hoped to deal with this alone – as he'd always done – and had asked Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to leave so he didn't have to concentrate on his shields.

But of course, the Master had figured him out. And what if Qui-Gon was right?

Khameir would not stop to use the Dark for his purposes; anger was an excellent motivator, and offered an even better way to deal with physical pain. But this was not anger, it was grief, and what if it did become bitterness and ate him up from the inside?

He'd known a person like this, and he'd always sworn he wouldn't make the same mistakes. He would not become like his mother, who had collapsed slowly from a perceived betrayal instead of just looking for his damn father and giving the man a piece of her mind.

"What do I do?"

* * *

Qui-Gon instructed the younger man to sit in a meditating position and give him his hands.

"Show me what it is that you have lost."

A garden tinged in blue light from a sunblind. A middle-aged man covered in bright green tattoos standing in front of a pink hut. He was missing a foot. Twin suns setting, making the sky and the ocean burn. Orange eyes checking him out from behind the safety of a veil. The desert and the black mountains, volcano country, in the distance. Being able to climb onto the next tree with a book and loose yourself for a while. Whitewashed houses against the brown rock, hiding their lush gardens; more eyes, laughing yellow, coy green, sparkling violet…

Never had Qui-Gon imagined Iridonia to be so colorful.

But it went on still. The lights of hyperspace, Coruscant like a blob of rust before the stars, a girl with flaming red hair in a park somewhere smiling at him; watching a pair of mismatched Twi'Lek girls – pink and yellow – doing their shopping.

_What is it that you would do about it? _Qui-Gon asked along the connection.

Revenge. Start training, build a new lightsaber, go off after Kala and torture her to death, slowly. What a pity the scientist was already dead. Maybe wreaking havoc on Darvin Four next.

_Would it help?_

I don't know.

_And if it doesn't help?_

More anger. Hurt them like they hurt you.

_Is that how you would like to spent your live, bringing destruction, killing everyone who just looks at you the wrong way? Would that make you happy?_

No.

The images faded and left behind a lake lying still under a bone colored moon. So it had not been clouds but maybe sea monsters… all in all, a lake was a more adequate metaphor for the mind than the skies.

_Feeling better now?_

Yes.

_It will continue to hurt for a while. You will need to meditate on this again._

I know… Thank you.

"You're quite welcome."

Qui-Gon rubbed the bridge of his nose and wondered how long this insight would last with Khameir. The young man was still on a kind of power-high, after all.

* * *

Khameir grinned. The Jedi were a lot wiser than he had wanted to believe, and, at the same time, more stupid. Like your average sentient being.

Just for the hell of it, he summoned a fresh shirt and donned it, before climbing from the bed and steering his way to the door, light-footed and in his usual, long missed stride.

He was peripherally aware that Qui-Gon sported a rather silly smile, like a proud parent watching their infant walk for the first time.

Outside, he manoeuvred through the Masters, wishing them a good morning – he needed some caf before he decided how much gratitude was in order.

They seemed slightly startled by his politeness. They had expected him to be more Sithly, while Qui-Gon expected him to be more like a Jedi. Expectations, expectations. He wasn't yet sure what he would actually do now that freedom lurked around the corner… he was only sure that he would surprise them all.

finis

* * *

A/N

They say that no feedback is a kind of feedback, too, but I find it quite hard to, let's say, read from it. Maybe I should have done some pouting, but I think that it rather lacks in style.

I'd really like to know what you people think about this… I'm also taking criticism.

Anyway, I might consider writing the surprise mentioned above, but I want to know if it's worth the effort.

carmilla


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